Idolize
by Stephane Richer
Summary: It's hard to explain to Kasamatsu or anyone how much Aomine means to him, how Aomine has saved him from the tedium of this suburban middle-class life.


Idolize

Disclaimer: don't own

Notes: Day 2 of the 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge by ghiraher on tumblr: idol/fan

* * *

Every time Kise sees Aomine Daiki's face he has to stop and stare; it's surreal how goddamn gorgeous he is. Maybe some of it's airbrushing and makeup, but he looks that good even in the live videos when he's drenched in sweat; the clarity of his voice when he sings and raps, even through amazingly difficult parts, matches his face perfectly, the sharpness and the sparks in his blue eyes and the mischievous smile that lights up the screen and draws Kise in like a moth. The other members of MIRACLES always look more than a little fake—Midorima's smiles are pained, Akashi's overly-rehearsed, Haizaki's as if he's trying to look tough, and Murasakibara's as if he's merely indulging the photographer. There's a reason Aomine's the face of the group and it's because he's so damn cool. It's a coolness that takes Kise's breath away even from a small inset on the magazine page, something to aspire to.

Unfortunately, his own band is hitting a very rough patch right out of the gates. They only have one song so far and they haven't even gotten all the way through it without stopping yet.

"Moriyama! Stop looking at your imaginary fangirls. I don't give a shit if you're in the band to pick up girls but save that for later. You're losing the tempo."

Kasamatsu, their rhythm guitarist and self-appointed leader (due to being the one who knows the most about music), is never satisfied—it's true that Moriyama was getting off the beat but Kasamatsu should have given him more time to fix it (well, in Kise's opinion, but he'd rather keep his mouth shut than face Kasamatsu's wrath at this point).

"And you," Kasamatsu says, pointing to Hayakawa. "Stop pounding the drums so hard all the time. You'll break them and those things are expensive. And play softer when everyone else is playing softer. Listen to what's happening. Nakamura, play the keyboard with a little more flair."

Nakamura and Hayakawa nod. Kise exhales; this time Kasamatsu hasn't found anything wrong with his vocals—or perhaps he thought that too soon.

"Speaking of flair, Kise. This is not your spotlight time. Stop doing weird shit with the melody."

"But Aomine-san—"

"Again with that guy. If that's all you care about, start an Aomine fan club or something."

"But Aomine-san is my inspiration." Kise sticks out his lower lip.

"Just shut up and sing."

Kise sighs. It's hard to explain to Kasamatsu or anyone how much Aomine means to him, how Aomine has saved him from the tedium of this suburban middle-class life. He's always been a pretty boy, charming and quick to learn, but there was nothing that really inspired him, nothing that was hard for him to get or achieve, nothing he truly desired, until he saw Aomine. It was like some kind of connection through the computer screen the first time Kise saw one of the band's videos—it was more than attraction, desire, a celebrity crush, envy, anything that anyone's dismissed it as when he's tried to tell them about it. He wants to be Aomine but at the same time he wants to be with Aomine, wants to have that flirty smirk directed at him and him alone, and at the same time wants to freestyle better and harder and hold the long notes longer and show off his vocal range and impress Aomine; he wants to be on equal ground, wants to see those eyes meet his in person and wants them to follow his every move the way his eyes follow Aomine's, wants those limber legs around his waist—it's hard to explain but it's definitely something real.

"You know," says Moriyama after practice is over and they still haven't managed to get through the song. "I got two tickets to the MIRACLES concert next week. You want to come, Kobori?"

Kobori raises an eyebrow and continues to tune his bass. Kise almost screams—the MIRACLES concert was sold out before he even had a chance to get on the website and the servers almost crashed.

"Moriyama-san, take me."

"I was asking Kobori."

"No thanks," says Kobori. "I'm not such a big fan."

"Please, please, Moriyama-san?"

"Come on, just let the kid have it," says Kasamatsu.

"I was just teasing," says Moriyama.

* * *

The concert is flat-out brilliant. Aomine's voice soars and dips, guiding the tempo and the mood and bringing Kise nearly to tears at times. When he's not singing, Kise can't look at whoever's on vocals and can barely hear it because he's too captivated by Aomine's dance moves, the spins and stomps and the blur of his arms—even from far away he can pick up the almost contrary grace of his body, the impossible movements made to look easy and smooth but at the same time ferociously raw and natural, the dips of his shoulders and the spread of movements from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and hands. Kise grabs Moriyama's arm several times, not that Moriyama's noticing anything about the concert (he's too caught up in looking at girls). Kise would be mad if he really cared, but he's too ecstatic—this is Aomine in the flesh, better than advertised.

They wait outside the theater, mixed in with the throngs of fangirls, for one last look—this has already surpassed Kise's expectations but he'll never be satisfied; there will never be enough Aomine for him—and then Kise turns around and Moriyama's gone. Fuck. There's no way he'll be able to hear his phone in a crowd like this, and there are plenty of girls around them. Maybe he got turned down by all of them already but that's never stopped him from asking them again before. Kise frowns. Then he sees a bright light off to the side—Moriyama smokes; he's probably stepped aside to light up. A lot of people smoke, true, but that's his only lead right now so he'll take it. He pushes the screaming fans aside and walks over.

It's not Moriyama; he's not even smoking—it's Aomine and his glowing flip phone.

Kise gasps.

Aomine looks up and for a fraction of a second his eyes widen.

"Hey, Cutie."

Kise wants to pinch himself. "Hey," he says, putting on his most nonchalant face.

"What's your name?"

"Kise Ryouta." He grins. "I know who you are, Aomine-san."

"Everyone does; don't they?" he says, staring into the cloudy night sky.

Was this the wrong thing to say? Does he resent his fame?

"So, Kise," Aomine says, drawing out his name like he's trying to get the taste of it right in his mouth, as if he's going to assume the same mouth position later and he wants to commit it to memory.

"So."

Aomine smirks; the expression is ridiculously sexy in person and oh so real. The magazines don't do it anything close to justice. They're standing so close now that Kise could just move forward and that smirk could be smashed up against his own lips in less than a second; Aomine's just a bit taller than he is and they could bridge the gap even more easily if Aomine leaned forward, too. His smirk twists into an outright grin and he lifts his hand toward Kise's face and then a shriek pierces the air.

"Aomine-sama!"

Aomine pulls back and looks at Kise; Kise grabs his hand and they run off through the alley, weaving around corners until they're out of range of any pursuit. Aomine grabs Kise's other hand and leans in so their foreheads touch.

"Damn, you're beautiful," says Aomine.

His words are not poetic or sensitive or any of the other things Kise had hoped would be hiding under the rough exterior, but they suit him and somehow they strike him as terribly sincere. He leans up and his mouth meets Aomine's; the kiss is warm and wet and a bit hesitant on Aomine's part. Kise leans closer, drops one of Aomine's hands and reaches up to touch his neck; Aomine sighs into the kiss and bites on Kise's lip; he tastes like cinnamon and burnt coffee and Kise can't get enough, licks his teeth and tongue and the inside of his lips and then Aomine breaks the contact.

He picks up his phone and Kise crosses his arms.

"Yeah, I know. They saw me so I ran off. Yeah, yeah, I know. No, I'm not alone. Use the GPS-thingy to find me; you know how to do that."

He stuffs it back into his pocket and sighs. "Sorry. My manager. She'll have my head when she finds me. But listen, Kise."

"Yeah?"

He takes out his phone again. "What's your number? I'm not around here often but the next time I am I'll give you a call."

Kise feels like he might melt right here.


End file.
